more profound. She was proud that he loved her, simpler and more sincere than she had ever been before.
Tonight, when Peter Kennedy broke down, and cried at her feet and told her that his days were hell and all his nights sleepless, she was ashamed and distressed, much more repelled than attracted. She told him she would refuse to see him, that she would not have him at the house at all if he could not learn to behave himself.
"You are a disgrace to your profession," she said crossly, knowing she was not blameless.
"You do not really think so, do you?" he asked. "I can't help being in love with you."
"Yes, I do. You have given me a pain."
When she said that and pressed both hands over her heart his whole attitude changed. It was true that under the influence of his love his skill had developed. Her lips grew pale and her eyes frightened. He made her lie down, loosened her dress, gave her restoratives. The pain had been but slight, and she recovered rapidly.
"It was entirely your fault," she said when she was able to speak. "You know I can't bear any agitation or excitement."
"The last you'll have through me, I swear it. You can trust me."
"Until the first time the spirit moves you." She never had considered his feelings and did not pause